#regency era.

[tremaynes]

teddy thinks the evening could use some livening up — everyone's had their fill of spirits, but somehow the gathered crowd is spiritless and lethargic, he's bored to absolute tears — and to his immense relief, there is a pianoforte hidden under the languorously leaning guests, tucked in one corner of the room.

he has elegant pianist hands and no inclination to use them; of the pair, fionn is the gifted one, and teddy has all the necessary faculties (a dancer's appreciation for a melody, and the haughty discernment needed to say, you play beautifully with complete honesty) to enjoy said gifts. pointedly, he makes eye contact with fionn, and nods his head ever so slightly towards the instrument, eyes very close to imploring, indulgent.

his mouth forms silent words, for fionn's eyes only: sing for us!

if this party does not liven up soon, fionn thinks he might scream. that would, at least, get people's attention; the party goers seem content to wallow in tedium. fionn stifles a yawn behind his glass, searching the room for @stormbrained; his intention is to suggest they either make things more exciting, or make a swift exit. somehow, when he catches his eye, fionn knows exactly what he's going to say, a connection that does not require them to be in proximity to one another to work. he might as well have heard teddy's voice in his ear.

(he would have preferred having teddy's voice in his ear. he had to endure a lecture on carriages.)

there is not a single part of fionn capable of saying no to him. teddy's done so much for fionn, and he loves him? why would he say no, especially when the request is to do the thing he loves? fionn may not be a society young lady showing off her accomplishments to attract a husband (thank god), but he does play well, even if he says so himself, and it's easy. his father would accuse him of showing off. his father is not here.

there is a slight rolling of his eyes in teddy's direction, as fionn sits himself at the pianoforte, assessing the room before he starts to play; a crowd this staid would not take well to some of his bawdier ballads, he suspects. which is a real shame, given that they're funny. he starts with a little beethoven to warm up before switching to a cleaner ballad, eyes finding teddy again, a silent communication: happy now?

[tremaynes]

he hadn't intended to fall asleep. but then, he'd not intended for this entire day to go the way it did, had he?

fionn hadn't expected his father to spend an hour tearing him down before disowning him, the letter already written and formalised, nor had he anticipated that his brother would take one last opportunity to punch him—although he had seen the hit coming, and, numb and hurting and desperate for the pain, had simply chosen not to get out of the way. he probably deserved it. he'd not intended to spend half an hour staring at the scotch he ordered in the first tavern he came across, only to walk out without drinking it. he hadn't even meant to come here, really.

but fionn had turned up at teddy's door, bruise blooming on his cheek and dejection in his shoulders, and had said, ❝ christ, i need a drink, ❞ but really meant we both know i worked hard to be sober and i don't trust myself to be alone and you're the only one i feel safe with.

so falling asleep, stretched across teddy's couch with his feet hanging off the edge, hadn't been the plan, but it happened. it would have been nice if it had at least been restful.

( 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄 ) ; one muse wakes up the other after having a horrific nightmare.

instead, it takes a hand on his shoulder to wrench fionn out of the darkest recesses of his subconscious, pulled into wakefulness with a jerk, a noise of distress dying in his throat. christ, he hopes he hadn't been screaming. or whimpering. would whimpering be worse? fionn sits up, gasping, pulling at his cravat until he can toss it aside, the fabric too tight around his throat. he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't—but there is a steady hand still on his shoulder, and fionn turns into it, resting his forehead against teddy's arm. perhaps it should not be so comforting, but he wants to cling, desperately, he wants to pull @stormbrained closer and hold onto him. when was the last time he was hugged? when was the last time either of them was hugged?

❝ sorry, ❞ he manages eventually, voice scratchy, ❝ sorry, i didn't mean to— ❞ he sniffs, gesturing vaguely before he rubs at stinging eyes. he could lie, and say that he's fine, but teddy would probably call him out on it. ❝ were you—what time is it? ❞

[tremaynes]

regency fionn's father is both new money and new peerage.

the tremaynes are catholic at a time when catholics were heavily discriminated against; fionn's older brothers were among the first allowed to take a commission in the army, and fionn's father is not allowed to sit in parliament, although he can and does exert influence and get protestants to vote for what he wants (fionn's oldest brother is the first to be allowed to sit in the lords, after the act of 1829). neither of fionn's parents came from money (especially on his mother's side), but his father has always been a shrewd businessman who was probably in the merchant class, and continued to build his money and status to an equivalent of the upper class, buying himself a knighthood and continuing to grow on the back of that, but he ended up very close friends with king george "despite" being catholic, and at some point was given a peerage for services to the crown. as a crony of the king, with an english accent and a willingness to at least pretend to fall in line with anglicanism, he gained status and money. he was always, however, a strong catholic, and that influenced everything.

fionn himself spent most of his early childhood in ireland, unlike his siblings who were raised in england, living with his grandparents and being educated by a tutor hired by his father (who also reported back on him). at 13, his father shipped him off to eton, wanting to be seen as the same as any other british peer; fionn learnt quickly to adopt a received pronunciation accent and to go along with anglican services. he was never a good catholic, anyway; he'd enjoyed the church choir, but had definitely suffered abuses, as well as knowing he was gay from a young age. he stopped considering himself catholic pretty young.

eton is not fun for him, there's definitely bullying for being irish and "a papist", every upper class lad is well aware that his family status is new and therefore invalid for the old money blue bloods, he's frequently beaten by teachers and older students (which was just common for the time, but probably had an additional element of him being assumed to be the one making trouble), but fionn has always been good with people, good at winning people round, and a pretty boring target for bullies because he just doesn't react (thanks, dad), so it wasn't the worst. he had friends.

going to university in ireland is an intentional choice. it's just more comfortable for him, and more specifically, it gets him away from his father and his spies; he has to swear a sacramental oath to graduate, but he hasn't been to mass in years, he doesn't care. when he comes back to london, it's by choice, he's away from the institutions that care about things like religion, and he doesn't care that a lot of society mamas would never let their daughter marry a catholic; he has no intention of marrying. he's here to dance and make merry.

[tremaynes]

❝ are you alright, miss? ❞ one of the things fionn loves about london is how easy it is to be in woodland without having to travel any distance at all. he'd taken his horse out early this morning, shaking off a late night with far more ease than he used to—no longer suffering the after effects of drinking too much has many benefits, it seems. and it was good to clear his head, to feel nothing but hoof beats and the wind on his cheeks, but now he wanders back on foot, leading saoirse by the reins, pausing occasionally to pick a wildflower and tuck it into her bridle. maybe he'll braid her mane, later.

he'd not expected to find anyone else in the woods, if he's honest, and certainly not a woman alone. but he can't walk by without at least ensuring that she's not hurt, nor on the run from someone. he smiles at @castpray, as gently as he can manage. ❝ are you injured at all? ❞

[tremaynes]

his horse's reins looped over a tree branch — flowers tucked into her bridle purely because he thought they were pretty; he'll give them to ella, if he sees her, or stick them in a cup of water — fionn has taken up residence on the ground, his back against a tree. he's dirtying his breeches, but who cares, really? who cares about anything? it's hard for fionn to muster the heart for it, when his own seems to be bleeding into his chest cavity, an ache he can't run from, even on horseback.

he'd hoped the fresh air and good view would make a difference, but it is, it turns out, a little hard for a summer breeze to blow away the fact that his father has disowned him, and that despite everything, it still hurts. but at least he's here, and not hiding beneath his bed covers. or in a bottle. that one was hard, today.

he closes his eyes anyway, opening them only when he hears hoofbeats approaching. company could be great—or it could be awful. fionn sighs, and opens his eyes. ❝ baratheon, ❞ he greets, relieved; a friend, and one he knows is like him, is a far better option than it could be. he shades his eyes from the sun as he looks up at renly. ❝ do you wish to join me? pull up a chair. ❞

@hostiae (renly)